


Remember your happy moments

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captivity, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, M/M, Plot Twists, Possible Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-28 01:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17173103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: Sequel toYou'll never know the love I felt.The morning of December 24th, Andrea speaks to Paulo for the first time since… since Paulo did the stupid thing.





	Remember your happy moments

**Author's Note:**

> It’s not a happy fic, that’s why I’m posting this after Christmas, so consider yourself warned and don’t come yelling at me later. Okay, come at me if you read it despite the warnings and you still think I’m the worst, then you have all the rights.
> 
> Many, many thanks to @prompt_fills for cheering me on even when (or especially when) I get the sickest fic ideas, and providing me with the best headcanons.

The morning of December 24th, Andrea speaks to Paulo for the first time since… since Paulo did the stupid thing.

It’s strange how all the time, Paulo barely knew what month it was, let alone the day of the week or the date, but now, he knows exactly what happened when.

On December 19th, Andrea accidentally left the cellar door unlocked. He didn’t make a single mistake for all those years, but even Andrea is just human. And humans make mistakes. Especially before Christmas, overworked and tired of all the pre-Christmas orders his company had, after the long nights spent at the computer trying to catch up on all the e-mails that have accumulated in his inbox. So he went to get the Christmas tree and decorations, and then his phone rang, which was always a signal for him to drop everything and run to answer it, because his boss was an impatient man. The call was long, and Andrea banged the door after that, running to his office, and the door stayed unlocked.

Paulo tried to ignore it all day. It was just a cellar door after all. What would he possibly find there? But it was a thing out of the ordinary, something that had never happened before, and it bothered him. He kept thinking about it while decorating the Christmas tree with boring, store-bought decorations that were just perfunctory, as everything in Andrea’s life. No memories connected to them, no meaning behind them.

On December 20th, he gathered all his courage and opened the door. As he expected, there was nothing to see there, boxes with stuff that wasn’t needed around the house, a few jars with canned fruit that probably wasn’t safe to eat anymore, judging by the thick coat of dust on the lids. Then he looked up, and froze. Above his head, a small window was letting in a stripe of daylight. Its frame was wooden and old, unlike the perfectly secure ones in the house. When he put a finger to the frame, he could feel the cold air on his skin. And when he stood on an overturned crate and managed to peek outside, he saw the ground and straws of old grass. He jumped down and leaned over the wall, and took deep breaths for good two minutes. Then he ran out of the cellar and closed the door like a monster was chasing him.

On December 21st, Andrea unexpectedly returned sooner from work to get changed and grab some presents before a company Christmas party, and found Paulo at the window, desperately trying to unscrew the rusty bolts with the help of a butter knife and kitchen oil.

The look Andrea gave him was one of complete disbelief, like Paulo was the worst disappointment he’s ever come across. The worst thing was that Andrea didn’t yell at him, didn’t call him an ungrateful bastard or any of the things he used to call him years ago whenever he saw Paulo crying or trying to find a way out, a way he until now thought didn’t exist.

“Come out,” he uttered.

Instincts were telling Paulo to hide in a corner, but he’d have to come out sooner or later, and whatever punishment was awaiting him, he would only make it worse.

He could pull through it, he told himself. He’s already done it many times when he didn’t know what he could expect from Andrea. Now he knew him a bit better, and knew whatever would happen could possibly hurt, but he would survive it.

“You know what to do,” Andrea said once Paulo reached the top of the stairs.

Paulo nodded. He knew it was best not to anger Andrea further, so he lied face down on the floor, biting back tears, and crossed his wrists, waiting for Andrea to get whatever he fancied tying him up with.

That was when Andrea noticed his ring was missing.

Scared as he was, he couldn’t come up with any excuse, not even a stupid one. He could only tell Andrea the ring was in the bathroom, on the edge of the washbasin. Why it was there, though, he couldn’t explain.

Andrea didn’t insist on an explanation anyway. He just grabbed the tape he had brought, and Paulo’s arm, and opened the cellar door again.

“I’m just giving you what you wanted,” he explained in a patient voice while tying up Paulo’s hands. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Paulo whispered. It was best not to argue with Andrea, ever. And after all, he deserved this. If not for doing this stupid thing, then surely for failing.

When the door was banged shut and there was nothing but darkness, every fiber of his body wanted to scream. He’s always thought the parents who closed children in the dark were the worst monsters in the world, because he was no more a child, but it was working on him just the way it should. But he didn’t make a sound. Everything he had to do was to pull through it. He just had to get through the punishment, and then everything would be all right. Andrea always forgave him after that. He would forgive him now as well. He would.

Eventually.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Paulo hears the door screech and the steps on the stairs, but he can’t open his eyes. His body is so tightly curled up, trying to contain the shivers, that he doesn’t think he has control over it anymore.

Andrea’s hand is pleasantly warm against his cheek as he lifts his head up. A delicious scent is coming from the kitchen. Paulo thinks he could die now.

“Look at me!” Andrea says, and Paulo doesn’t dare not to open his eyes, no matter how painful it is. “Have anything to tell me?”

Paulo holds his gaze, and tries to say something, but his lips are trembling so much he can’t form a word.

Andrea cocks his head to the side, eyes fixed on Paulo’s mouth. “What?” he asks.

Finally, Paulo manages to push the word past his lips. “S-sorry.”

A smile appears on Andrea’s face. “That’s a good boy,” he says and throws Paulo’s arm over his shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He has to practically drag him up the stairs. Paulo’s body is simply not cooperating. Even when Andrea drags him to the bathroom, he can’t stand in the shower and has to curl up on the floor. He’s still shaking, despite the hot water running down his body. It takes all eternity and vigorous rubbing with a towel to warm his limbs up enough for them to support his weight.

When he comes out of the bathroom, dressed in clean and warm clothes, there’s food on the table and Andrea is smiling at him. It almost looks like a beautiful dream, if one could have a beautiful dream in the middle of a nightmare.

“Sit,” Andrea says when Paulo keeps standing there, looking at the table like it could disappear if he touched it. “You must be hungry.”

He is. He has to hold himself back so that he doesn’t devour everything that is on the table, plates and cups included. He tries to focus on other things. The feeling of warmth returning to his body. The fading pain in his wrists. Andrea sipping on his coffee calmly.

“Will you help me with the dinner later?” Andrea asks.

Paulo just stares. He’s not asking Paulo to _make_ the dinner. “Yes,” he whispers. “Of course.”

He waits for Andrea to finish his coffee and collects the dirty dishes. Andrea doesn’t object against him making them, but when Paulo walks inside the living room, he pulls him down on the sofa in front of the TV. An old movie is playing, but Paulo doesn’t care. He would watch a dark screen if he had to. The actors are talking too fast for him to understand, and there’s Andrea’s solid arm around his waist, and the pleasant smell of coffee, food, and possibly a scented candle burning somewhere in the room. He doesn’t make it even halfway through the movie.

He wakes up to Andrea’s lips on his. He opens his eyes, not quite reciprocating the kiss, but not resisting it either. Andrea is looking at him with strange curiosity, like he’s seeing Paulo for the first time. When he slides a hand under his T-shirt, Paulo raises his arms, but Andrea’s hand never goes further, like he just wants to feel Paulo’s skin under his fingers. After another lingering gaze, he lets go and gets up.

When they start on the dinner, Andrea opens a bottle of wine, but only pours a glass for Paulo. Which has probably never happened before, but Paulo doesn’t dare to ask. Same as he’s never dared to tell Andrea he actually doesn’t like wine.

Andrea switches on the radio. Paulo doesn’t remember the radio ever playing in the house. It was always off limits, and when he once tried to turn it on, secretly, it wasn’t tuned, and Paulo couldn’t figure out how to do it. He gives Paulo another smile as a Christmas songs starts playing, and Paulo returns it, still not able to relax fully. Not mentioning his offenses after his punishments are over is a rule, but never before was he treated like this afterwards.

They eat the dinner almost in silence, mainly from Paulo’s part, because he doesn’t want to ruin everything, and he’s tired enough for a wrong word to accidentally slip out of his mouth. He just listens to Andrea, agrees, praises and nods. Andrea seems to be fine with it.

“Well, time to go,” he announces after they’re done eating, and gets up.

Paulo sits still. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and whenever he doesn’t, sitting still is the safest option.

“What are you waiting for?” Andrea calls, already dressed, handing Paulo a coat.

The coat must be Andrea’s, because it’s too big for him and he doesn’t remember having a coat since he’s been here. Before he can wrap his head around what’s happening, Andrea is already opening the front door for him and leading him outside.

When they walk out, Paulo stops and grips Andrea’s arm. Whether it’s the fresh air, or the past three days taking their toll on him, or just the realization that he’s outside the house, his head spins and vision clouds. Andrea steadies him, wrapping the coat closer around his body.

“Don’t worry, we’re going by car,” he tells him, and Paulo nods gratefully. He feels like he couldn’t walk even a hundred steps.

He stares ahead as Andrea walks around the car and gets in the driver’s seat. “Seat belt,” he reminds him.

“Sorry,” Paulo blurts out. “I forgot.”

“It’s been a long time, eh?” Andrea smiles and starts the car.

Paulo nods. “Where… where are we going?” he asks then. Asking questions is never safe, but he risks it this time.

“To church,” Andrea says and makes a turn so smooth the car barely sways. “You do have quite a few little sins to confess, don’t you?”

Paulo smiles faintly as Andrea pinches his cheek playfully. Then, as soon as Andrea turns his attention back to driving, he places his fingers on the glass of the side window like he wants to melt through it. Lights are flashing around him so fast he can’t make out what city they are in. No matter what city it is, it’s beautiful. Paulo wishes he could jump out of the car and run down the streets like a headless chicken.

“Was it a nice day?” Andrea asks suddenly, and Paulo drops his hand back in his lap quickly.

“Yes,” he whispers and looks at Andrea, but Andrea’s eyes are on the road. “Thank you.”

Andrea just hums in response, taking another smooth turn. The car’s engine is quiet and it’s warm in the car. Paulo could fall asleep right there.

They leave the main road after a while, and the roads get more narrow and bumpy, until Paulo hears gravel under the wheels. The city lights disappear, replaced by trees.

When they stop, Andrea leaves the lights on, because otherwise, they wouldn’t see anything. He wraps his arm around Paulo’s shoulders and leads him inside, so surely and quickly that Paulo doesn’t even have time to look around.

Andrea didn’t lie. This is indeed a church… or used to be, because it’s clear that nobody goes to pray here anymore. The floor is covered in debris and fallen plaster, some of the benches are missing or moved to places they don’t belong, and whatever was valuable in there is gone.

Paulo stares at the remnants of the altar for a long while, then turns to Andrea in confusion. “What-“ He doesn’t finish the question, because he doesn’t have to. Blood goes cold in his veins. He forces his eyes to look up from the gun in Andrea’s hand to his face.

“Trust me, I never wanted this,” Andrea says.

Paulo kind of does trust him he didn’t, but that doesn’t change anything.

“You… you don’t have to do that,” he pleads, taking a step towards him despite his whole body screaming at him to run. “I… I’ll never do anything like that again, I… I promise I’ll be good, I swear to God…”

Andrea sighs, and it sound like genuine weariness. “We’ve had that already,” he says. “You proved that you couldn’t be trusted.”

Paulo feels the hot tears on his cheeks before his brain processes that he’s crying. He yanks uselessly on Andrea’s arm. “Please, I… I’ll do anything, I…”

“Shh,” Andrea says and for a moment allows Paulo to lean over him. “That’s enough.”

“Please,” Paulo sobs against his chest.

“I said enough!” Andrea snaps and pushes him away.

Curiously, it gives Paulo a dash of courage. “You can’t do this!” he says, voice shaking only a little bit.

“Why?”

Paulo just stares at him. It’s absurd how his brain refuses to list reasons for which he shouldn’t die. “We’re in a church,” he blurts out then. “It’s Christmas.”

Andrea looks unimpressed. Paulo doesn’t remember him being much religious. He’s never gone to church, the rare Sundays he didn’t work he always stayed at home. He never seemed to mind Paulo praying, though.

“We’re in a church because I want to give you a chance to make your peace with God,” he growls and pushes him forward. “Because I care for you.”

Paulo cries out as his knees hit the marble stairs leading to the altar.

“You should be thankful,” Andrea adds.

It’s also absurd how many times he wanted to die, and now when this wish of his is about to be fulfilled, he desperately wants to live.

“I don’t have all night,” Andrea says. “You want to pray or not?”

Paulo nods and wipes off his tears. He does want to pray, but his mind is complete chaos. He’s fumbling for words, and in the end he can’t put together Our Father. He can’t even hold his body upright in the kneeling position. He sits on his heels and steadies himself with his hands. One of them slips on something lying on the ground and he almost falls. He wraps his fingers around the thing and turns his head slightly to look at Andrea.

Andrea is looking a bit to the side, in the direction of the sacristy, bored, or already planning how to dispose of Paulo’s body. Although as Paulo knows him, he already has everything planned to the smallest detail.

It’s now or never.

Paulo jumps up and turns, swinging the thing he’s holding rather haphazardly, concentrating more on the strength than the aim, but even his aim is miraculously accurate.

It’s surprisingly quiet. Andrea never makes a sound, or at least Paulo can’t hear it. All he hears is the sound the gun makes when it falls on the ground, and then the terrible, loud, screeching sound when Andrea’s body falls between the benches unceremoniously.

Only then he looks at what he’s actually holding. A statuette that probably used to be a part of the altar. The paint is chipping and some details are already missing, but he still knows who this is.

The Virgin Mary apparently thought prayers weren’t enough to save him.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. It could be seconds or minutes. Then he finally lets go of the statuette, setting it carefully on top of one bench, and backs out of the church, not quite daring to turn around, only stopping when his back hits the car parked outside.

For a moment he doesn’t know what to do. He almost thinks that he’s forgotten how to drive, until he reaches for the keys and starts the car. Then, all of the movements are automatic, stored in his brain among all those he didn’t need for years, but that he’s never forgotten.

When he steps on the gas, he feels like he can fly.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The streets are empty, and Paulo almost feels like he’s the only person alive, before he remembers that it’s Christmas Eve. He takes random turns, no knowing where he is, not knowing where to go or what to do, waiting for either a sign or the gas to run out.

The lit windows of the police station look like a good sign to him.

He almost tiptoes in, unsure about what to do. The booth on his right is empty, although the lights are on and the computer as well. It looks like the person has just gone to have a cup of coffee to help them pull through the night. There is a line of plastic chairs on the corridor, and Paulo sits on the one closest to him, wrapping Andrea’s coat around him and just blankly staring ahead.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, trembling even under the thick layer of wool. He feels like it has nothing to do with cold anyway.

Then the sound of steps tears him out of his thoughts. A policeman is coming up to him, a cup of steaming hot liquid in one hand, a bunch of keys in the other.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

Paulo looks up at him, and suddenly doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t spoken to anyone else than Andrea for years.

“I don’t know,” he says then, pulling his knees to his chin, but at the same time hanging on the policeman’s lips like he’s waiting for him to tell him what to do. “I… might have killed someone.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

The cup of hot coffee lands in front of Paulo once they reach the warmth of the policeman’s office. It’s not the quality blend Andrea used to get, freshly ground and prepared in the expensive coffee machine, it’s just an instant crap with a ton of sugar and milk, and it’s the most delicious thing Paulo has ever tasted.

After Paulo tells him that he has no idea where his ID is, the policeman types his name in the database, then looks at Paulo, back at the screen, back at Paulo. Then he picks up the phone.

“Sorry, boss, could you come here for a moment?”

The door opens a mere minute later, and an angry looking man in a uniform appears.

“Are you kidding me, Bernardeschi? It’s Christmas!” he barks.

The policeman just turns the screen to him. The man looks at the screen, then at Paulo, who is holding the cup protectively against his chest, then at the screen again.

“Well,” he says then. “Tell me about Christmas miracles.”


End file.
